


send my love to your new lover

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, No Lesbians Die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-05 16:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20491733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: “You remember me telling you about Alex? Alex Dawson?”Bernie suddenly sounds very far away, and Serena has to force herself to breathe. This is it, the nightmare scenario, the one she knew she’d eventually have to face when she let Bernie go. The vicious voice in the back of her mind, the one that reminds her of all her failings late at night, taunts her with glee.Here it comes.Serena braces herself, can already hear Bernie’s voice in her head:Alex and I are together, Alex and I are in love.“Alex and I are getting married.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is! The angsty rom-com fix-it fic that my brain decided we all needed. I'll be posting on Mondays & Fridays, so not too much waiting ;)
> 
> Enormous thanks to Beth, who helped toss around ideas for the outline, let me write this entire thing to her via text, read it over, and constantly reassured me it was good. I'm endlessly lucky have her in my life, and there would literally be no fic without her. 
> 
> Shoutout also to Bonnie for her beta eyes, to fiveroundsrapid who helped me stumble on the original idea, and to Reg for still being my friend after me just shouting angsty tidbits at her all the time <333
> 
> (And if you're a glutton for punishment like me, check out the playlist that's been my go to inspiration for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1MtR1fKhyvTk1MiNO0HSqr?si=BZAlzQmBSWKAaoXhRlMdOA))

Serena sips her tepid coffee, adding another sticky note to the margin of the file spread before her and draws a rough arrow to the empty signature line. She closes the folder, drops it on the pile of others, an uneven rainbow of paper scraps down the side of the stack, and leans back in her chair with a sigh.

Many talents run in the Wolfe bloodline, but clearly paperwork isn't one of them.

She likes Cameron, and not just because he's Bernie's son. He's funny, smart as a whip, has incredible instincts when he gets out of his own way. With proper mentorship, he could be an impressive doctor in his own right.

And if occasionally her heart clenches when he looks up at her with those all too familiar puppy dog eyes, or his bark of a laugh echoes across AAU, well. Serena's all too aware that she made this bed, now there's no choice but to lie in it.

She's pondering if there's a surgery she can muscle in on — anything to get away from the seemingly endless stack of paperwork awaiting her attention — when she hears a commotion out on the otherwise quiet ward.

Frowning, she pushes out of her chair to investigate, pokes her head out of her office to see what all the fuss is.

She can make out the back of Cameron's head, his lanky silhouette in the pale blue scrubs of AAU. He's hugging someone, laughing, a pair of long arms wrapped tight around his back and a mess of blonde curls against his shoulder.

Serena's stomach flips, and she grips at the door frame to steady herself as Bernie pulls back from the embrace, takes her son's scruffy face in her hands with a grin.

Bernie's here. On AAU. Bernie's back. _Her_ Bernie...

_No_, she reminds herself sharply. Not hers. Not anymore. She ensured that the last time they saw each other seven months ago.

They haven't even talked since then. Not really, not in any meaningful way. She's texted the occasional picture of Guinevere, an anecdote about Cam, received mostly emojis in return. 

It’s too soon for them to try and forge some kind of friendship; the transition from being everything to one another to being nothing at all still awkward and painful.

Watching her talking to Cam across the ward, a rare full smile on her beautiful face, Serena can't help but remember a time when she would've been the one on the receiving end of that smile, that embrace. The memory of Bernie's thin lips crushed fiercely against her own overwhelms her for a moment.

She has to stop herself from rushing to meet her.

Instead, she walks back to her desk on unsteady legs, buries herself in the paperwork that suddenly holds far more appeal, a distraction from everything she wants and can't have appearing outside her door. It even works for a while, the sorting of notes and signing of forms almost meditative, calming the thoughts pinging around the inside of her head.

"Serena?"

The sound of her name in Bernie's husky voice startles her, pen clattering to the desk as her hands jerk, her heart slamming into overdrive. Bernie has the good grace to look abashed from where she stands on the threshold of what was once their office.

"Sorry,” she says, lingering in the doorway. “I didn't mean to startle you." 

Serena can see her own uncertainty reflected in Bernie's eyes.

"No, I- it's fine. I just didn't, I mean...What are you doing here?" She winces, wishing she could snatch the words back the moment they leave her mouth.

"Surprise?" Bernie's hands are shoved so deep in her pockets that Serena's surprised she hasn't poked a hole right through them, every inch of her body language screaming the desire to run. "I'm taking some leave and I wanted to visit Cam and Charlotte."

"Of course," Serena says, hopes the smile she gives isn't as pained as it feels. "I'm sure they're thrilled to see you."

It's not what she wants to say. She wants to tell Bernie how lovely she looks, how much she's missed her, that she's regretted letting her go every moment since Bernie walked out of Albie's.

She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep the words in.

Bernie just hums noncommittally, eyes flitting around the office, landing on everything except Serena. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, as if whatever she's looking to say is lodged in her throat.

She finally looks at Serena, eyes squinting in an uncertain little smile. "Do, um, do you have a minute? I could buy you a cup of coffee?" Serena can only nod, grabbing her phone and following Bernie out, ignoring the way Donna, Cam and every other employee on the ward as they try — and fail — to act as if they're not watching.

They don't talk as they make their way to Pulses, six inches of clear space between them. Serena starts counting her breaths, tries to stay present, not to get lost in memories of walking these halls, smiling and flirting and so in love she thought her heart would burst with it. 

A porter pushes past them with an apology, and their shoulders brush for just a moment, the touch sending goosebumps racing along Serena's skin.

Once they have their coffee in hand, they move to a table tucked away to the side, out of the flow of traffic. Serena sits carefully, makes sure that her hands aren’t too close to Bernie’s, that their knees don’t bump beneath the small table, thinks she’s never been so hyper aware of her body. 

Awkward silence hangs between them as they sip at their too hot drinks, neither of them seemingly able to start a simple conversation, and the loss of their former ease makes Serena’s chest ache.

“When did you-”

“How are you-”

Voices overlapping they both stutter to a stop, chuckling a bit.

“You first,” Serena says, heart flopping as a light blush pinks the rise of Bernie’s cheeks.

“How, um, how are you?”

Serena almost laughs. It’s a simple question, but coming from Bernie it borders on the absurd. A part of her wishes she was brave enough to tell Bernie the truth; that she’s lonely, that she barely sleeps, because the nights in her house too quiet and filled with regrets, and she sees Bernie everywhere.

That she desperately wishes things were different.

“Good,” she lies. “Busy.” Closer to the truth. “Between running the ward and helping Jason and Greta, I hardly have a moment to myself these days.” She settles for the easy half truth, one that papers over everything.

That pulls an understanding chuckle from Bernie, and Serena’s stomach flips at how lovely she is. It seems absurd, but somehow she’d almost forgotten. Having her so close brings all of that attraction flooding back, and Serena has to tear her eyes away, clearing her throat and hiding her blush behind her coffee cup. 

“And you? How’s the trauma center doing? Still enjoying the heat in Nairobi?”

Bernie shifts in her seat, a thumbnail picking at the cardboard sleeve of her coffee cup with a rhythmic _tick-tick-tick_.

“I thought Cam would’ve told you,” she mutters, almost to herself, focusing intently on a mark on the tabletop. “I-, I’m not in Nairobi anymore. I actually never went back.”

“What? I- I thought you…” Serena trails off, confused.

“Yes, well. It seems it’s rather more difficult to get your job back after quitting with no notice. Even if you _are_ a world renowned trauma surgeon.” 

A tidal wave of guilt floods Serena, so intense it makes it hard to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, voice thick. “I never meant for you-”

“Serena, no.” Bernie’s hand twitches forward, as if she wants to reach out before thinking better of it. “I’m not blaming you. That was _my_ choice, not yours.”

It’s absolution, of a sort. Forgiveness Serena feels she hasn’t earned. There’s an opening there, an opportunity to talk about everything that happened, but she’s not ready to take it. Especially not in the middle of the hospital.

“If you’re not in Nairobi, where have been hiding yourself?” Serena tries to inject a little levity, repeating over and over in the back of her mind that this is a catch up between old friends, nothing else.

“Somalia, actually. Mogadishu. I was able to sign on as a civilian contractor working with the RAMC deployed there.”

A genuine smile softens Serena’s face. “Must be nice, being back in the fold.” She remembers all the stories Bernie told her about army life, knows how much a part of her always missed it. “Any old friends from your unit out there with you?”

Bernie’s posture goes a little rigid, like a deer catching the scent of a predator on the wind. The suddenness of the change fills Serena with a vague, nauseating anxiety.

“Yes, a few.” She glances up, messy fringe falling in her eyes, and Serena’s fingers twitch against her cup. “You remember me telling you about Alex? Alex Dawson?”

Bernie suddenly sounds very far away, and Serena has to force herself to breathe. This is it, the nightmare scenario, the one she knew she’d eventually have to face when she let Bernie go. The vicious voice in the back of her mind, the one that reminds her of all her failings late at night, taunts her with glee.

_She’s moved on. She doesn’t miss you. Probably never did._

“Oh. I’m glad you and she have a chance to reconnect.” It’s a terrible lie, she’s sure Bernie doesn’t buy it for a moment.

Bernie’s lips twitch in a hesitant smile. “Yeah. It’s been…good. That’s actually why I’m back. Why I wanted, um, to talk to you.”

_Here it comes._ Serena braces herself, can already hear Bernie’s voice in her head: _Alex and I are together, Alex and I are in love._

“Alex and I are getting married.”

The world falls out from beneath her, reeling at the sheer impossibility of it all.

“Married?” she manages faintly.

Bernie’s shoulders hunch up nearly to her ears. “I know. I didn’t think-. Well. I certainly never expected…” She fumbles on about finding Alex again, trying to pick things up where they left off and then the decision to make things more permanent.

Serena barely hears over the hammering of her pulse in her ears. She knew she’d have to face this, that Bernie would find someone new. But still, a part of her thought they’d always find their way back to each other eventually. That someday it would be the right place, the right time, and they’d be together. 

She realizes now what an utter fool she’s been.

“You, you’ll be at the wedding, won’t you? You and Fleur? It would mean a lot to me to have you there.”

Serena blinks, the words penetrating the fog of pain and self-recrimination that’s surrounded her brain. “Um, Fleur?”

“Cam may have mentioned that you two were seeing each other,” Bernie says. “I’m happy for you, Serena. Truly.”

Serena wonders vaguely if she’s having a stroke. She has no idea how Cameron would’ve gotten such an idea, or why on earth he would’ve told his mother.

Opening her mouth automatically to tell Bernie that it isn’t true, she pauses. She’s still reeling from the revelation, and the thought of Bernie knowing that Serena’s been alone and pining for her is too much for her wounded pride to bear.

“It was all a bit sudden, but you know how that goes.” It’s too much, too many conflicting, confusing emotions, and Serena falls back on what she knows she’s expected to say. “Of course we’ll be at the wedding. I-, I’m so happy for you, Bernie.”

It’s a near thing, but she manages to keep her voice from cracking, to imitate some semblance of sincerity. Serena knows that she has to get out of there, that if she stays much longer she won’t be able to hold the facade together.

“Well, I have to get scrubbed in for a laparotomy, so I should probably go.” Serena’s chair makes a loud, squealing scrape as she pushes back too fast from the table, Bernie’s brow furrowing at the sudden shift. “Thanks for the coffee. We’ll talk later?”

Not waiting for an answer, she turns and walks away as quickly as she can manage with some shred of dignity.

As soon as she turns the corner, Serena ducks into the stairwell, bypassing the elevator. She takes the stairs two at a time, her mind chanting _Bernie...married _over and over to the rhythm of her steps. By the time she pushes through the door to the fourth floor, her thighs are burning, breath coming fast. Serena looks around the ward, catches a flash of bright red against the soft pastel walls.

Fleur is speaking to a young couple in one of the bays, the husband clearly terrified, clinging to his wife’s hand as the monitors beep softly, tracking the progress of her labor. Serena tries to keep her voice calm, smiles reassuringly as she reaches Fleur’s side.

“Ms. Fanshawe, a moment of your time?”

Confusion is etched across Fleur’s face, but to her credit she just nods, excuses herself with a winning smile, and follows Serena back across the ward. 

Once they’re safely in Fleur’s office, Serena throws the lock and pulls the blinds, blocking the room from prying eyes. She turns back to find Fleur leaning against the edge of her desk, arms crossed and smirk firmly in place.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, Serena,” Fleur drawls, “but _really_. In the office?” 

Serena just drops into the nearest chair with a sigh. “I need your help.”

Worry replaces the flirtatious sparkle in Fleur’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Bernie’s back and she’s getting married and she thinks you and I are together.” It all bursts out of her in a rush, tripping over her tongue. 

Fleur blinks a few times. “I’m sorry?”

Serena forces a deep, shuddering breath into her lungs, willing herself to slow down.

“Bernie showed up on AAU. She’s in town because she and her ex — the one before me — are getting married.” Her voice cracks a bit on the last words, and she clenches her fists in her lap, the bite of fingernails against her palms focusing her a bit.

Fleur moves to sit beside her, and Serena averts her eyes, can’t bear to see the sympathy on her friend’s face. 

“And the bit about us?” Fleur’s using her ‘doctor voice’, the one they all master to help put their patients at ease. 

It grates on Serena’s nerves like nails across a blackboard.

“Apparently, Doctor Dunn told his mother that we’re a couple.” Serena chuckles bitterly. “Bernie is very happy for us.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment. You are quite the catch.” Fleur jostles her with an elbow, and Serena smiles despite the gloss of tears making her vision swim. “Now, what do you need me for? I could seduce away Bernie’s fiancée, leaving you to comfort her. Or, barring that, I’m sure I could figure out how to hide a body.”

Serena laughs more genuinely at that, before burying her face in her hands with a groan.

“What am I going to do?” she asks, words muffled against her palms.

“This may be a wild idea,” Fleur says, one hand rubbing gentle circles between Serena’s shoulder blades. “But have you considered talking to Bernie? Tell her that she got the wrong end of the stick about us. That you’re still head over heels in love with her and you don’t want her to get married.”

“No!” Serena’s head lifts sharply, dislodging Fleur’s hand. “Absolutely not.” She pushes up out of her seat, pacing back and forth across the office. “Fleur, you should’ve seen her. Bernie…she’s happy.” The words sit like ash on Serena’s tongue. “She _deserves_ to be happy and I won’t do anything to take that from her. I owe her that much.”

“Do you think she’ll still be happy when she finds out you’re miserable?” 

Serena wishes she could deny it, but she’s spent too many nights making her way to the bottom of a bottle of wine and crying on Fleur’s shoulder to pretend otherwise.

Fleur’s not wrong, though. Bernie has always prioritized Serena’s happiness over her own; it was the reason Serena sent her away, in the end. A thought occurs to her, and she stops her restless pacing to face Fleur.

“There is another option,” she says slowly, continuing at Fleur’s skeptical nod. “I just need to make her think that I am happy, that I’ve moved on. With you.”

The laugh that bursts out of Fleur pricks a bit at Serena’s ego. 

“It isn’t _that_ ridiculous,” she grumbles.

“Oh yes it is,” Fleur replies, trailing off into chuckles. “Serena, you know the moment you say the word I would be more than happy to show you the time of your life.” Her mien turns serious. “But you love Bernie Wolfe. What you’re suggesting is a recipe for disaster.”

For once Fleur is the voice of reason, but Serena can’t hear it. The idea may be madness but it feels like the only way she can survive this. She moves to sit, taking one of Fleur’s hands between her own.

“Please,” Serena says, “I never ask you for anything. Well, except for cab fare from the pub that time. Please do this for me.”

Fleur stares back at her for a long moment, and Serena holds her breath.

“Fine.” Relief floods Serena, she squeezes Fleur’s hand a bit tighter. “But for the record, I think this is a terrible idea.”

“So noted,” Serena says, smiling wide. “_Thank you_. I’ll let you know the date for the wedding.” Fleur hums at that, as Serena heads to the door, a spark of hope burning bright in her chest.

“Oh Serena.” She pauses, glances back to Fleur. “I’ll be expecting certain permissions with this arrangement. Second base, at least.” She drops a wink and Serena flushes at the thought of Fleur’s ruby red lips against her own, those hands on her body.

She’s pretty sure that’s the right base, anyway.

Heart thudding, Serena manages a wan smile, Fleur’s delighted laugh following her as she walks out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

After spending her career doing everything possible to avoid being the subject of the ever-efficient hospital rumor mill, Serena finds trying to deliberately insert herself into it is a decidedly odd experience. 

It would be easier if her life wasn’t so intertwined with Bernie’s, if they didn't have the same friends, if her son wasn't on Serena's ward. As it stands, there's no way that talk of Serena and Fleur won't reach Bernie's ears. 

The idea of Bernie finding out that Serena has been pining for her is humiliating enough. Finding out that Serena is covering by lying about her relationship with Fleur is unthinkable.

Pushing through the door to AAU, she glances around warily, relieved to find that Bernie is nowhere to be seen, doesn't trust herself to keep the facade in place. Once in the safety of her office, she tries to push the tangle of emotions to the back of her mind so she can focus, try to salvage something out of this terrible day.

She's only halfway through the first file when there's a tap on the door, and she groans internally at the sight of Ric Griffin. He's got that grin on his face, the one that means he's got a juicy bit of info to lord over Serena, and she is assuredly not in the mood.

Before she can protest, Ric is through the door, closing it behind him before crossing to sit at Bernie's - no, _his_ \- desk. Serena only gives him a cursory glance, turns her attention back to her paperwork.

"I saw Bernie," he says, diving right in. Serena keeps her eyes down, as if the topic holds no interest for her. "Are you alright?"

The gentleness of his tone cuts through her. Kindness and concern are the very last things she needs right now. She drops her pen with a sigh and leans back in her chair, arms crossed. Something dangerously close to pity is in Ric's eyes. She hates it.

"I appreciate the concern, but it's unnecessary." She injects a bit of steel into her voice, the tone that makes F1's quake in their trainers. Not that it's ever had much effect on Ric. "Everything's tickety boo, thank you very much."

Ric raises a disbelieving eyebrow but lets the lie go, his silence somehow more nerve-wracking than his gloating.

"I also heard an interesting rumor. About you and Ms Fanshawe?"

"Is that so?" Already she knows there's no way out of this conversation. She and Ric have known each other for far too long to prevaricate. He leans forward, elbows braced on the desk, eyes intent.

"Serena..."

"Ric," she interrupts, "it's fine. Truly. And if you happen to talk to Bernie, all you need to say is that you think the world of Fleur, and she and I are very happy." 

He doesn't reply, just studies her in silence for a long moment. Serena has to keep herself from squirming in her seat.

"Would you like to explain why, exactly, you want me to lie to Bernie?"

"Not especially," she mutters half under her breath. Unfortunately, Ric is just as stubborn as she is; she knows there's no way out once he's dug in his heels. "Bernie's getting married. To Alex Dawson." Saying the words still feels like a punch in the chest, and Ric's eyes go wide before softening in understanding.

"I see. And this is what? A plan to make her jealous?"

"Of course not," Serena scoffs. "Ric, Bernie deserves to be happy, to be with someone who's good for her. We both know that self-sacrifice is her default mode. If she thinks that I'm happy, it will make it easier for her to move on."

Ric's expression is a study in skepticism. "Wouldn't it be easier to just tell her you miss her? That you want her back? She wouldn't have come all this way to tell you if she didn't still care." 

The thought makes Serena's stomach flip, filling with uncertainty.

"Ric, please. I never ask you for anything." She forges on despite the roll of his eyes. "I need you to do this for me."

"Fine." Serena lets out a slow breath in relief as Ric gets up to leave. "But don't come to me when this all blows up in your face," he warns, pausing in the doorway before making his way back out onto the ward. “Bernie isn’t the only one with a self-sacrifice complex.”

Serena’s never been more grateful to be pulled into a case. She feels a stab of guilt as she’s scrubbing in, the relief to have something else to focus on momentarily overshadowing the pain of the patient in front of her.

The muscle memory of the surgical procedure, reviewing the steps in her mind, relaxes her, lets her ignore the constant specter of Bernie in every inch of AAU, at least for a little while. By the time she scrubs out, the surgery a success, she feels calm. Prepared for whatever comes next and more convinced than ever that she’s doing the right thing where Bernie is concerned.

That calm slips a bit when she steps out of the locker room, fingers sliding against the collar of her blouse to straighten it. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a pair of porters glance her way, then duck their heads together, whispering furiously. It happens again with a nurse, and she can feel eyes on her back as she waits in line in Pulses.

It seems that the news about her “relationship” with Fleur is already making the rounds. Being the subject of speculation instinctively sets her teeth on edge, and she has to remind herself that this is what she wanted.

By the time she returns to AAU, the tranquility she found has disappeared entirely. She flips through a folder at the nurse’s station, a frown on her face, one that only deepens when she realizes that Donna keeps throwing her little glances.

“Something on your mind, Nurse Jackson?” Donna jumps a bit, whether from the surprise of being caught or the harshness of Serena’s tone. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to warn the gregarious nurse off.

“I hear congratulations are in order.” She smiles, despite Serena’s glower. “You and Ms Fanshawe. When did this happen?”

“Hmmm?” Serena doesn’t bother looking up from the file in her hands, cultivates an air of dismissiveness. “Oh we’ve been seeing each other for months now. I thought everyone knew already.” She hopes it’s enough to throw Donna off the scent, but her puzzled frown makes it clear it isn’t.

“Really? It’s just, well, I had drinks with Fleur last week, and she said…” Serena leans in, close enough that Donna scoots her chair back a bit.

“She said she’s never had better. We’re blissfully happy and can’t keep our hands off one another. Which is exactly what you will say to anyone who asks, understood?”

Donna eyes go wide. For a moment Serena’s relieved that she can still put the fear of god into her employees when needed, and then Donna’s expression shifts.

She scoots her chair forward, leans across the the desk, glancing side to side to ensure no one is listening.

“Is this about…Bernie?” Her big brown eyes are soft with concern; it makes Serena’s spine go rigid.

“I assure you, this has nothing to do with Ms Wolfe.” She can feel heat climbing her neck at the lie, curses her lack of a poker face where Bernie is concerned. “I would appreciate if you would also pass that along to anyone who thinks otherwise.” She waits until Donna nods before walking away, wondering what she’s gotten herself into.

Conversations with Ric and Donna, a difficult surgery, having eyes on her all day; by the time she's ready to pack it in, Serena finds herself reluctant to go home. The idea of sitting in her empty house, thinking about Bernie and Alex, makes her feel ill. Instead, she makes her way to Albie’s, finds something more appealing in drinking herself into a stupor surrounded by other people.

The pub is quiet, blessedly few of her co-workers scattered about the room. A quick stop at the bar, and she settles in a chair with a bottle and glass, not seeing the point in pretending at moderation, hopes her posture alone is enough to scare off interlopers.

Her luck continues to be utter rubbish.

“I’m not in the mood, Fletch.” She refills her glass without glancing up at the man now seated across from her.

“I didn’t say a thing.” Fletch raises his hand defensively. “I’m just here for a pint.”

Serena snorts into her glass, and Fletch has the good grace to look abashed.

“So what’s all this I hear about you and Fleur?”

“You’re the one who always has an ear to the ground,” Serena says, “I assumed you already knew all there was to know.”

Fletch’s eyes narrow a bit as he studies her. “Been hearing lots of different stories. Everything from the two of you snogging in store cupboards, to being on the verge of moving in together.” He hesitates, taking a slow sip of his beer. “What I find interesting, is that all these stories popped up the same day the Major shows up out of the blue.”

“Is that so?” The words are blasé, but with a thread of warning woven through them. 

Unfortunately, it’s been years since that tone has had any effect on Fletch.

“Serena,” he leans his elbows on his knees, voice pitched low. “What’s all this about?”

She means to maintain the lie. She really does. It’s just that she’s so bloody _tired_.

The whole sordid story spills out in fits and starts: Bernie getting married, somehow having the impression that Serena and Fleur are an item, the web of misinformation Serena has put in place to maintain that belief. By the time she’s finished, Fletch’s pint is empty and he looks vaguely stunned.

He stares at her for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“You do know this is mental, right?”

Serena bristles. “It’s what needs to be done, Fletch.“ She cuts off his disbelieving laugh with a wave of her hand. “Bernie deserves to be happy and I won’t stand in the way of that.”

“This is worse than when you were pretending not to be in love with her,” he mutters, seemingly unaffected by her glare. “Serena, just talk to her. I’ll even lock you both in an office again, if that’ll help.”

She barks out a watery laugh, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “This is how it has to be, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your nose out of it.”

“All right,” Fletch sighs, pushing out of the chair. “I know when my advice isn’t wanted. But if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me, yeah?”

Serena manages a nod, a ghost of a smile, Fletch’s hand lingering on her shoulder for a moment as he moves to join a group from Darwin across the way.

The rest of the bottle goes down easier than it should, and by the bottom of the last glass a pleasant sort of fog envelopes her mind. She closes her eyes against the slight spinning of the room, tilts her head back on the sofa and lets herself float on the feeling.

She’s just working up to calling a cab, when she hears a rustle of fabric, the squeak of someone sitting down across from her. A spike of irritation pierces her peaceful bubble.

“Fletch, I’m really not interested in-_ oh_.” Bernie is there, watching her with an expression Serena can’t describe, just the sight of her making the room twirl a little faster.

“Sorry,” Bernie says, sitting so stiffly it makes Serena’s spine twinge in sympathy. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just. Well. I wanted to make sure you were okay?” Serena must look perplexed, because Bernie presses on. “Before, when we-, when I told you. I didn’t mean to spring it all on you like that.”

Anger and humiliation flood Serena, adrenaline sharpening her focus. It’s hard enough knowing that Bernie’s moved on. To have her show up with those puppy dog eyes, worried about Serena, asking if she’s _okay_...

It’s mortifying.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she says, pasting on the smile she uses with wealthy donors and sexist board members. “But I appreciate the concern.”

Some of the tension leeches out of Bernie, and she glances down where her hands are twisting a bit in her lap, hair falling into her face.

“I’m glad. I would never want to…to make things harder for you.” She glances up, and Serena clenches her hand to stop from reaching over, brushing the strands of hair out of her eyes. “I’m hoping that, maybe, we can be friends.”

Serena’s eyes prick with traitorous tears, and she takes a slow breath. There’s plenty of time to break down behind closed doors at home, and she can’t stop the note of softness that creeps into her voice.

“Of course we’re friends, Bernie,” she says, hoping that it’s true, that deep down, somewhere past all the pain and sadness, they haven’t lost that. “I like to think we always were.”

The smile she gets in return is like sunshine poking in through the cracks in her walls, light always finding a way in. 

“To be honest, I need all the friends I can get right now,” Bernie says, rolling her eyes a bit. “Cam and Charlotte are none too pleased with me, and Alex couldn’t get away. Which leaves me to plan this whole thing by myself.”

“And when is this happening?”

“In a little over a month.”

A disbelieving laugh bursts out of Serena before she can stop it, and she claps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Bernie joins in and it only makes her laugh harder, that ridiculous goose honk and the sheer absurdity of the situation bringing tears to her eyes. 

Trying to catch her breath, it occurs to Serena that she can’t remember the last time they laughed like this. She has enough distance now to see that there were so many more problems between them than distance and flirtatious F1s. Being like this, having a laugh together, just goes to prove that she’s doing the right thing. 

Even if she can never have Bernie’s love, maybe she can have her friendship back. Properly, this time.

Brushing the tears from her eyelashes, Serena shakes her head. “Well I wish you luck. That sounds like quite the feat.”

“Tell me about it,” Bernie grumbles. Her head comes up, a speculative look in her eyes that sets off warning bells in Serena’s mind. “I don’t suppose…No, never mind.”

“Suppose what?”

Bernie’s mouth works soundlessly, as if she’s trying out the words before she says them. “I could really use some help arranging everything, and it’s not like I have anyone else here. Would you-?”

“You want me to, to help plan your wedding?” The bottle of shiraz sloshes uncomfortably in Serena’s stomach, and it’s only by the thinnest of margins that she avoids laughing, or vomiting. Or both.

Bernie goes beetroot red, wincing. “God, I’m sorry, that was completely out of line. Forget I said anything. I’ll just-“

“Yes.” Bernie freezes, her expression reflecting the surprise Serena feels. “Of course I’ll help. We’re friends, after all.”

It sounds insane, but even as she says the words Serena realizes it’s perfect. She’ll be able to prove that they can be friends and that she’s perfectly fine without Bernie at the same time. And if she can also actually get over her lingering feelings in the process, all the better.

“Really?” Bernie looks stunned. “That, uh, that would be amazing. Thank you.”

The genuine gratitude on her voice makes Serena’s heart twinge, but she firmly ignores it. _It’s only a month_, she thinks. _How bad can it be?_


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, this wedding that isn’t her own takes over Serena’s life.

It turns out wedding planning has changed more than a little since she popped into the clerk’s office with Edward all those years ago. She feels a bit out of her depth, but at least navigating the complexities of it all gives her something to focus on, a much needed distraction. 

As long as she doesn’t think too closely about who the event is actually_ for_. 

So she looks for venues on her lunch breaks, ignoring Fleur’s disapproving glare across the table. Finds the names of caterers and bakers and learns the differences between fondant and buttercream. Keeps an open email draft to consolidate all of her research, and sends it off to Bernie every second day.

It’s more convenient to meet in her office than in the hotel room Bernie’s been staying in, and more than one evening finds the two of them sipping wine and scrolling through websites, close but never quite touching. 

Bernie seems willing to go along with most of Serena’s suggestions, and her calendar quickly fills with taste tests, venue visits and floral arrangements.

And today is the most promising caterer.

Serena rushes out of surgery, delayed by unexpected complications. From across the ward, she can see Bernie’s blonde hair in her office, sitting beside a woman who must be their noon appointment.

“I’m terribly sorry I’m late,” she says, a little breathless as she steps through the door. Bernie and the young woman both turn her way with welcoming smiles, and Serena ignores the little flutter in her stomach.

“It’s quite all right, with an important job like yours. I’m Alicia,” the woman says, holds out her hand, gives a firm shake. “I’ve only just started going over the details of our services with your lovely fiancée.”

The chair Serena pulls closer to the desk screeches across the floor, and she almost stumbles. Bernie looks as flushed as she feels, eyes wide with panic.

“Oh no, I’m not-“ “We’re not, I mean-“ They both trail off, pointedly avoiding each others eyes.

“I’m just a friend,” Serena manages to choke out in something approaching her normal voice, and Alicia blanches.

“I-, I’m so sorry! I just assumed…” She ruffles through her papers, frowning. “But the wedding is for, I mean, I thought…” she stammers, clearly embarrassed, and Bernie takes pity on the girl.

“My fiancée, Alex, is currently deployed. She’ll be back in time for the ceremony.”

It’s hard to hear, stated so plainly.Serena clenches her hand beneath the desk, blunt fingernails digging into the skin of her palm.

Alicia lays out the options for them, a spread of glossy brochures that covers most of the desk. Bernie hasn’t specified exact numbers, but the invitation list is going to be small. She ends up choosing a fairly traditional wedding breakfast, looking to Serena for approval. They set a time for a tasting, and Serena notes the dates for final numbers or any changes in her planner.

“It was wonderful to meet you both,” Alicia shakes, shaking their hands. “And I’m sorry again for the mix-up earlier. You just make such a lovely couple!” She laughs brightly, clearly amused by her own joke.

Serena forces a smile in return. “Yes, well. We’ll be in touch.”

Bernie is still flipping through the brochures, a faint flush of pink on her cheeks. Serena’s heart clenches; seeing Bernie sitting at her old desk just like she used to, some distorted version of Serena’s dreams come to life.

“I’m sorry about all that,” Bernie says softly, and Serena raises an eyebrow.

“About what?”

Bernie’s blush deepens, her eyes settled somewhere over Serena’s shoulder. “About Alicia, thinking that, uh, that you and I…” She gestures vaguely between them.

“I suppose it’s bound to happen.” Bernie’s eyes go a little wide, and she curses herself for being so easily flustered. “What with us both being women,” she hurries to add, only a little overwrought.

She moves to sit behind her desk, busying herself in jotting down some notes, straightening things. Takes a moment to bring her racing thoughts back under control.

“That’s one of the major things off the list, at least,” she says brightly, looking over her list, falling back on the comfort of planning, of moving forward. “There’s really not too terribly much more to decide. Cake tasting, flowers. Oh and we really do need to finalize the invitations.” 

She looks up at Bernie’s huff of laughter.

“A part of me still can’t believe I’m doing this,” she explains, fiddling a pen between her fingers. “Our mothers insisted that Marcus and I do the whole ‘white wedding’ and it was miserable. I kept trying to convince him that we should just run off to the registry and elope.”

“That’s what Edward and I did,” Serena says, “and believe me, you didn’t miss out on anything. Nothing says romance like having your marriage witnessed by complete strangers, and the groom vomiting in your bouquet.”

Bernie winces in sympathy. “I guess, after the divorce, I didn’t expect to ever get married again. It didn’t go especially well the first time.”

Serena hums in agreement, pushing the ache of Bernie’s words to the back of her mind. They’d never talked about it, really, when they were together, just made jokes about being free of their former spouses. Serena always assumed that Bernie wouldn’t be interested in marriage, and never brought it up with her, not even when she found herself browsing rings online late one night, planning a future with Bernie that would never happen. 

The realization that she just wasn’t interested in marriage to _her_ sits in her stomach like a stone.

“If this wasn’t Alex’s first, I doubt we’d be doing it all. I just don’t want to take that away from her, if it’s what she wants.” Bernie glances up cautiously. “Did you ever think about it? Getting married again, I mean?”

Serena’s heart drops sickeningly. She knows she should just lie, make this easier for both of them. But Bernie’s looking back at her with those dark, knowing eyes, and she can only pretend so much.

“I did,” she hears herself say, as if the words are coming from someone else. “Once.”

A flash of pain skitters across Bernie’s face, her mouth dropping open slightly. A kind of terrified anticipation fills Serena at the thought of what she might say.

“Ms Campbell?” Donna pokes her head in through the partially open door, as if she’s afraid of what she’ll find. “I’m so sorry, but we need you in bay six.”

“Right.” Serena swallows hard, tries to regain her equilibrium. “I have to-“

“Of course,” Bernie interrupts, hands raised a bit, as if she’s going to shoo Serena out. “We can talk later.”

Serena just nods, turns to follow Donna across the ward.

“Are you all right?” Donna asks, pitching her voice low as she hands over the tablet.

“Fine,” Serena snaps, forces herself to take a slow breath when Donna jerks back a bit. “I’m fine,” she says reassuringly. “Truly. Now what’s happening with Mr Edwards?”

...

Wedding preparations are endless, but mildly diverting. The thing that Serena dreads the most, the meeting she tries to put off the longest, is the one she’s driving to now: finding Bernie’s wedding dress.

Even if dress-shopping will be hard, difficult, heart-wrenching, even, Serena’s glad for the time with Bernie, selfishly trying to lap up all the time she gets, so grateful to have her best friend back that even the circumstances can be momentarily ignored in favor of her joy.

Serena pulls her car into a space across from the boutique, shuts off the engine. She was more than a little surprised when Bernie gave her the name of the place; it certainly wasn't where Serena would expect her to shop. Not that she'd ever admit to it, but she always pictured Bernie in a crisply tailored suit, maybe even her dress uniform, waiting at the front of the aisle for-

She shakes her head sharply, as if dislodging the thought. _None of that today_.

Bernie is already there as Serena crosses the street, leaning against the shopfront wall, smoking a cigarette seemingly down to the filter. She smiles a bit as Serena approaches, stubbing out the butt against the brick and tossing it into a bin.

"Ready for this?" Serena injects some cheer into her voice. She can see that Bernie's nervous, muscles tense, and fingers twitching, and she refuses to add to it.

Bernie just shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I guess there's no avoiding it."

"Buck up, soldier," Serena chides, nudging Bernie with her elbow. "Don't show them any fear." That seems to get a more genuine smile out of Bernie, and they make their way through the door.

The interior of the shop is a sea of white, frills and ruffles and lace as far as the eye can see, and the idea that Bernie's fiancée sent her _here_ takes Serena aback. 

When Serena asked Bernie what she was planning on wearing, she'd just flushed, mumbled something about a friend in the business who Alex wanted her to go to, that she’d already sent pictures of the vintage dress Alex inherited from her mother. 

She's distracted enough that she misses the name of the saleswoman, focuses just in time to shake her hand.

"You must be the matron of honor. One of them, anyway."

Serena swallows hard, manages a feeble, "Something like that," resolutely avoiding looking Bernie's way.

They're escorted to a plush sitting room in the back of the shop, a small dais set between an antique davenport and a floor length mirror, curtained changing cubicles off to one side. There's even a tray of beverages and pastel macarons. Serena's never been so glad to see a bottle of wine in her life, quickly fills a glass without even caring that it's white.

The saleswoman drags Bernie around the shop for a bit as Serena gets settled, returns with an armload of gowns. Bernie already looks a little green around the gills, overwhelmed by everything, and Serena gives her a reassuring smile as she takes several options into the changing room.

"It's almost harder when the bride's look like her," the woman says, leaning against the sofa arm. "She's built like a model! Alex made me promise to get her in something gorgeous. Said if she was left to her own devices she'd grab the first thing she could find off the rack and call it a day." She laughs like she's said the most hilarious thing, and Serena feels a stab of defensiveness twist her guts.

She is right about one thing - Bernie looks incredible. Serena's breath catches as she steps out in the first gown, a slim ivory sheath that makes her look even longer and leaner than usual. The sales woman practically lights up, flits about Bernie like a hummingbird, nattering on about the perfection of the lines, the tweaks they could make in alterations.

Beautiful or not, all Serena can see is how uncomfortable Bernie is. She looks like she's about to bolt out of her skin, keeps flicking beseeching looks Serena's way in the mirror.

"Why don't we see another?" Serena asks, interrupting what must've been a terribly important diatribe about the quality of the fabric. "We don't want to just take the first one off the rack now, do we?"

The saleswoman's eyes go a little cool, but she acquiesces, pulling another dress as Bernie steps down, mouthing a silent "thank you" that warms Serena's chest.

Dress after dress, they make their way through the selections. Each one looks amazing on Bernie, and each one is utterly wrong for her. Serena can see her mounting frustration, her mouth set in a thin line, and the poor saleswoman seems at the end of her tether. 

One more rejection - a single look at the confection of lace pulled a snort of laughter from Serena that was very much not appreciated - and she stomps off to the office, saying something about contacting a manufacturer, leaving them alone in the sitting room. Bernie walks out a moment later, wrapped in a plush white dressing gown, flops down onto the sofa beside Serena with a groan.

"This is a bloody nightmare." Her head is tilted back against the sofa, hair a mess from pulling dresses on and off, and Serena has to tear her eyes away from the pale length of her neck. She pours a second glass of wine, which Bernie accepts gratefully.

"Why don't you just tell her what kind of dress you want?"

"Because I don't know," Bernie sighs. "Wearing a dress wasn't even my idea, but Alex was so set on it. I, I don't want to disappoint her."

For a moment, Serena wishes she was the kind of person who would take the opening, use it to plant a seed of doubt, putting a wedge between the couple. But she's not that person, and at the end of the day, she just wants Bernie to be happy. Even if it's without her.

Especially if it’s without her. 

"This is your day, too, Bernie. And I'm sure Alex doesn't want you to be uncomfortable," she says. "Don't worry so much about if she'll like it. After all, it’s not the wedding day she’s after, it’s the life with you." 

The words sit on her tongue like ash, bitter with regret.

Bernie stares back at her, eyes soft, searching for...something. And then the moment passes, and she looks down into her glass.

"I suppose you're right," Bernie says softly. "If I haven't said it, thank you, Serena. For everything." Her hand moves tentatively across the cushion, fingers just brushing against Serena's. 

Even that tiny bit of contact is a like an electric shock.

Before she even realizes, Serena is on her feet. "Why, uh, why don't you relax for a bit. I'll see what else they might have," she manages, turning to flee the room.

Thankfully, the saleswoman is nowhere to be seen, the shop mostly empty. Serena wanders the aisles, forcing herself to take slow deep breaths, reciting _she's just your friend, she's just your friend_ in her head like a mantra as she looks idly through the racks of gowns.

Something catches her eye and she pauses, pulling the hanger free and holding it up. Her heart races a bit, a part of her already knowing that it's perfect. Bernie looks a little doubtful when Serena hands it over, eyes scanning over it.

"Are you sure?"

"Just try it on, and if you hate it I'll put it with the others. For me?" That does the trick. Serena perches on the edge of the sofa, unaccountably nervous, fingers worrying her pendant as she drains the last of her wine.

The curtain slides open, and Serena's stomach swoops crazily, leaves her blinking wordlessly as Bernie crosses to the dais. The jumpsuit fits her like a glove; slim, cropped trousers that make Bernie's legs look like they stretch on forever, with a sleeveless top overlaid in delicate lace that emphasizes her strong shoulders and willowy arms, while also covering the surgical scar on her chest.

The sight of her takes Serena's breath away.

Bernie turns to face the mirror, and Serena swallows hard. She hadn't realized the back was open, just two panels of sheer lace coming to a vee at the base of Bernie's spine, and she has to forcibly push back vivid memories of following that sinuous curve with her hands and mouth.

"Well, what do you think?" Bernie is watching her in the mirror, something Serena doesn't recognize, doesn't want to name, flickering in her eyes.

"Bernie," Serena breathes, "you look...perfect." She stands slowly, walking over to the dais. Up close the details of the outfit become clear, but all Serena can see is all that lightly tanned skin, dusted with moles and freckles. She clears her throat a bit, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. "Never mind that, what do you think?"

"I love it," she says without hesitation. "You know just what I like."

Bernie is still looking at her in the mirror, her stare dark and heavy, like a physical touch on Serena's skin. She steps closer, drawn in, all the things she's been longing to say, the truths she's been hiding, crowding in the back of her throat. Her mouth opens, and-

"_Oh!_ You look amazing!"

They both whip around, startled. Heat floods her cheeks, and Serena stumbles back a few steps, the saleswoman bustling past her.

Her breath is coming short and fast, making her a little dizzy, and Serena knows she can't stay here. Fumbling in her purse, she makes a show of checking her phone, holds it aloft as if it's some sort of explanation, and looks somewhere over Bernie's shoulder. 

"Sorry, I have to-. We'll, um, just, call me later?" And with that, she rushes out of the shop, leaving a confused Bernie in her wake.


	4. Chapter 4

A dull headache throbs behind Serena’s eyes, makes it hard to focus on the report she’s supposed to be editing. She could use another cup of coffee but summoning the energy to make the trip to Pulses feels daunting.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Xav heading her way, a tablet in hand. Donna grabs his arm as he’s passing the nurse’s station, leaning in to say something to him, and they both shoot furtive glances in her direction.

Donna’s been diverting everyone she possibly can from Serena’s path all morning. Normally it would make her furious, today she can’t blame her a bit.

Serena knows she’s been like a bear with a sore paw, snapping at nurses and F1s alike, and no matter how frustrated she is with herself, she can’t seem to stop. Everything she’s been pushing down inside is becoming harder and harder to ignore as the wedding gets closer.

It’s only two days away now, written in stark black pen on her desk calendar. The planning is all sorted, leaving her with time on her hands; too much time. She would’ve spent the evening with Bernie, going over last minute details, but Alex finally arrived, keeping Bernie understandably busy.

Alex’s arrival has made everything so real, piercing the veil of denial Serena has so carefully pulled around herself, even if she hasn’t yet met the woman. She hardly slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning in her too-large bed, her mind churning out image after image of Bernie, across town in an elegant hotel room, in someone else’s arms.

Serena even considered going home early, getting Ric to cover the rest of her shift, but tonight is Bernie and Alex’s combined hen party. The only thing worse than the thought of going, seeing them together, is the thought of what everyone will think if she doesn’t attend.

Fleur even took her out to buy a new dress, insisting that her ‘date’ look nothing less than ravishing for the event. She refrained from making any jibes about Serena’s choice to continue their ruse, a sure sign of how bad things have gotten.

A soft knock on the doorframe interrupts her thoughts.

“Ms Campbell?”

She glances over, quickly returning to the report that she couldn’t explain the content of at gunpoint.

“Can I help you, Dr Dunn?”

Cam takes that as an invitation, bravely stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “I, um, I just came to apologize.” He’s got his hands shoved in his scrub pockets, shifting from foot to foot, looking so much like his mother that Serena feels a lump form in her throat.

“Apologize? What for?” He hesitates, eyes flitting about the room, and Serena’s already frayed patience snaps. “Are you going to tell me what this is about, or just stand there like a naughty little boy?”

Cam’s eyes go wide, and for a moment she thinks he’s going to bolt, like the Wolfe he is. Instead he straightens his spine, meets her eyes.

“I’m sorry for telling Mum about Ms Fanshawe. It was totally out of line.”

He crosses to sit on the low sofa, earnest now that he’s gotten started.

“I saw the two of you, the way you were together, and I just assumed. I mean, obviously, if I had known it wasn’t true I never would’ve put you in that position.”

Serena somehow manages to keep her face neutral. “What do you mean, ‘it wasn’t true’?”

“You and Ms Fanshawe,” Cam says, as if it’s common knowledge. “I didn’t mean to lie about it, I swear.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I assure you you’ve done nothing wrong. Ms Fanshawe and I are quite happy together.” 

Cam pales a little. Wrings his hands together, like Bernie used to do when she was nervous.“I, uh, I may have overheard Donna and Fletch the other day, and…”

Serena tosses her pen down on her desk with a clatter and sighs. “Of course you did,” she mutters darkly, making a mental note to assign the two to a hospital-wide supply inventory in the near future.

“She still loves you, you know.” Serena looks up sharply. To his credit, Cam meets her eyes steadily, even if his hands are clenched white knuckle tight.

“Cam,” she says, warning heavy in her voice, but he pushes onward.

“Everyone can see it. She still looks at you the same way she did in the beginning. She’s never looked at anyone else like that.”

Serena sighs. “Look, I know you’re not thrilled about Alex, but your mum is happy. Don’t you want that for her?”

“Of course I do. But this won’t make her happy. And it won’t make you happy either.” 

He glances away as he says it, fingers plucking nervously at the edge seam of the sofa, clearly aware how far over the line this is for a conversation with his boss. Tears prick at Serena’s eyes and she blinks them away, tries to stop herself from wondering if he’s right, from hoping for the one thing she wants most.

“Now Cameron,” she says, “I don’t know where you’re getting this from, but-“

“God, you’re just as bad as her,” he blurts out, cutting her off. He leans forward, eyes wide and earnest. “You could stop the both of you from making a big mistake. I see how you look at her, too.”

“You mother is a grown woman, Cam. At some point you have to trust she knows what she wants. Besides,” she swallows hard. “I can’t keep chasing her if she doesn’t want to stay.”

Cam scoffs at that. “Except she hardly ever knows what she wants, and when she does, she doesn’t think she deserves to get it.” He pushes up off the couch. “You really are perfect for each other,” he snaps, walking out the door without another word.

…

Albie’s is full to the rafters, a mixed crowd of Holby City employees, military personnel, and friends, all talking and laughing, eager to celebrate the brides.

They haven’t even arrived and Serena all ready wishes she could leave.

“Here.” Fleur pushes a drink into her hand, a sort of lurid pink concoction with a cherry bobbing in amongst the ice cubes. “A little dutch courage. Tonight calls for something stronger than wine.”

Serena can’t disagree. She takes a healthy swallow, wincing a bit at the cloying sweetness, the bite that burns the back of her throat. A second smaller sip, and she can already feel the warmth of the alcohol spread through her chest.

“Thank you for this,” Serena says softly. She knows she would never survive tonight without Fleur at her side, is grateful for her friendship even if she doesn’t have her approval.

“A night out with a beautiful woman on my arm, and an open bar.” Fleur grins, teeth flashing white in the dim room as she slides an arm around Serena’s waist. “What’s not to like?”

A cheer goes up from the bar, and they turn toward the commotion. Through the crowd she sees Bernie, her hair pulled back in a neat twist that shows off her long, elegant neck. And beside her, Serena gets her first real look at Alex.

“I have to give to Bernie, she does have excellent taste,” she distantly hears Fleur mutter. “I’d climb her like a tree.”

She’s beautiful, Serena thinks, very like Bernie in a way. Tall and slender, and so bloody _young_, her hand tightly clasped in Bernie’s. Seeing her, seeing them, Serena suddenly feels very old.

“None of that.” Fleur grabs her by the shoulders firmly, spinning Serena to face her. “Serena Campbell, you are a vivacious, sexy vixen, and if Bernie Wolfe can’t see that, then she’s a damn fool. Now, you and I are going to go give the brides our best wishes, make a show of how desperately happy we are, and then we’re going to get positively stinking drunk on their dime. Are you with me?”

Fierce gratitude steals the words from her, and Serena just nods, taking Fleur’s hand and following her through the crowd.

All too soon they’re standing in front of Bernie and Alex, a small space opening in the crush of people around them. Bernie smiles at Serena, a genuine smile, one that curves her lips in response. Her eyes drop to where Fleur’s hand is tangled with Serena’s and the smile falters, something sharp flashing in her eyes.

“You must be Serena!” Alex steps forward without hesitation, pulling Serena into a tight hug. She freezes a bit, manages to bring her arms up, meeting Bernie’s eyes over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex pulls back with a wide grin, blue eyes sparkling. “Bern’s told me so much about you. We can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve given us.” Alex loops an arm around Bernie’s waist, leaning into her easily. “This never would’ve happened without you.”

“That’s what friends are for, I suppose,” Serena says, once she’s sure she can open her mouth without screaming. She can’t seem to tear her eyes from Bernie’s, and an awkward silence descends over the group.

“And this is…?” Alex prompts when the moment stretches too long, and Serena starts.

“This, uh, this is my, my girlfriend, Fleur Fanshawe.” The words just feel wrong. Serena wonders if maybe she should’ve practiced saying them. Fleur reaches out to shake Alex’s hand firmly.

“Lovely to meet you. And congratulations! I didn’t think anyone would manage to snag the Werewolfe.” She turns to Bernie, pushes up on her toes to press a kiss to her cheek, a faint pink smudge of lipstick left behind. “Good to see you, _Bern_.” Bernie shifts uncomfortably. “You’ll be happy to hear I did just what you asked.”

“What?” Bernie frowns, clearly confused. Fleur positively leers, a possessive hand landing on Serena’s hip, pulling them flush from shoulder to thigh.

“Why, looking after Serena, of course.” Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips as she drags her gaze over Serena, words positively dripping with innuendo. “I promise, I’ve been taking _very_ good care of her.”

Bernie’s standing so rigid Serena can’t help but be concerned for her back, and Alex is looking back and forth between Fleur and her fiancée like she’s slightly nervous a fight is going to break out.

“Come along, darling,” Fleur says brightly, breaking the brittle atmosphere. “I’m sure these two have other people to talk to. Congratulations again.”

Fleur is as good as her word. There’s hardly a moment that Serena’s glass is empty, and before long she’s firmly on the far side of tipsy, slumped a little loosely on the sofa they’ve claimed. Bernie and Alex are at the bar, surrounded by guests laughing and raising toasts to their happiness.

“You’re rubbish at pretending to be over her, you know that?” Fleur says, setting a fresh cocktail down in front of her. “It might be more convincing if you didn’t stare at her like a cat stalking a canary.”

Serena blinks at Fleur owlishly, hadn’t even realized she’d been staring. Her eyes slip back involuntarily, and she sees Alex press herself against Bernie’s back, her hands tucking into the front pockets of her jeans. She says something in Bernie’s ear that makes her toss her head back, that honking laugh cutting through the noisy bar, then nuzzles even closer. Watching her kiss that sensitive spot beneath Bernie’s jaw, the one that makes her shiver and gasp, snaps something in Serena.

She takes a swig of her drink, sets it back down on the table hard enough that it sloshes over her hand a bit.

“You’re right,” she says, certain for the first time in weeks. “I’m done pining.” Slipping her hand behind Fleur’s neck, she pulls her in, kissing her firmly. Fleur tenses for a moment, then relaxes, arms twining around Serena’s back as she returns the kiss.

It should be odd, kissing her friend like this. Serena would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to Fleur, but there’s never been that energy between them, that pull toward romance. Just some harmless flirting and a true friendship that she’s endlessly grateful for.

But Serena’s sad and angry, and it feels so good to be wanted, even if deep down she knows it isn’t real.

They spend the rest of the night canoodling in the corner; laughing, drinking, kissing until their lips are swollen and Serena’s hand is just beneath the hem of Fleur’s skirt. A few times Serena catches Bernie’s eye from across the bar, the stark disapproval she sees there only spurring her on. 

If Bernie deserves to be happy, then she bloody well does too.

It’s nice, losing herself in a haze of lust and alcohol, a haven from the emotional maelstrom of the last month. She lets herself enjoy the sheer physical pleasure of soft lips against her own, a teasing tongue flicking into her mouth. Fleur takes a detour along her jaw, and Serena makes the mistake of opening her eyes, sees Alex pressing Bernie back against the bar, fingers threaded into her hair. Pain twists in Serena’s gut and she pulls Fleur back up roughly, buries the hurt beneath another scorching kiss, pointedly ignoring Bernie and Alex and everything else until Fleur is the only thing she can focus on.

There are only a few other stragglers left when they manage to stumble into a cab. Serena realizes with a start that she doesn’t even know when Bernie left, can’t really summon the energy to care. Head lolling back on the seat, the blur of streetlights zipping past lulls her into a doze.

“Come on, out you get.” Serena grabs Fleur’s hand to steady herself as she climbs out of the cab, looking around blearily.

“Where are we?”

“You’re staying at mine,” Fleur says, tucking herself against Serena’s side to support her as they walk. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone in this state.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Serena mumbles, tripping a bit on the sidewalk.

“Right. And I’m the queen.”

It’s all a bit of a blur after that. Fleur manages to get them both inside without incident, deposits Serena on her bed and hands her an oversized nightshirt while she ducks into the ensuite. Eventually Serena manages to get changed, grumbles when Fleur forces her to swallow some paracetamol and drink a full glass of water, standing over her until she finishes as if Serena was a recalcitrant child.

Handing back the empty glass, Serena flops down on the bed, burrowing her face into the pillow and willing the room to stop spinning. The lights click off and she feels the mattress dip behind her as Fleur settles in.

Sleep pulls at her, the lure of oblivion strong. She just wants to forget this day, this month. Wants to forget that this is her life. In the darkness, it’s all too much, feelings and fears crashing over her. 

Serena’s breath hitches in her chest, and a moment later Fleur’s hand rests between her shoulder blades, warmth soaking through the thin fabric.

“Fleur,” Serena whispers into the swirling darkness. “I still love her.” Her voice cracks, a rush of tears overtaking her.

“I know, darling.” Fleur’s arms wrap around Serena, cheek pressed against her back, moving with her as she sobs bitterly. “I know.”


	5. Chapter 5

The morning of the wedding dawns clear and bright, the kind of day you’d find on a postcard or in a storybook.

Serena hates it.

She manages to drag herself out of bed and down to start a pot of life-giving coffee. Two days later and she thinks she might still be recovering from the hen night. Whether that's from the astonishing amount of alcohol she imbibed or the ignominy of a morning spent being noisily sick in Fleur's bathroom, it's hard to say.

Eyeballing the bread on the counter, she decides against it. Her stomach is already in knots and she doesn't think she could eat if she tried. Pours a steaming cup of strong coffee instead, blowing it cool as she heads back up to her bedroom.

A hit of caffeine and a shower so hot it leaves her skin pink do wonders to clear the fog from her brain. It all still feels surreal, a part of her in denial that she's going to have to watch Bernie get married today.

Fleur tried to convince her otherwise, as Serena laid near catatonic on her sofa, adamant that there was still time to fix this. That the right thing to do was to tell Bernie everything. Maybe even convince her that she shouldn't be with Alex, that she has other options.

But life isn't like the movies, and Serena thinks a last minute declaration will only serve to hurt them both. She’s seen the look in Bernie eye as she smiles at Alex, wrapped up in her arms like she’s loved and happy. A look Serena remembers from when they were together, a lifetime ago.

She won’t take that from Bernie, could never be that selfish. Instead, she'll be Bernie's friend; put on her best dress and a full face of makeup, and be there for her as she moves into this next phase of her life with someone who makes her happy.

That will be enough. It has to be.

The taxi arrives right on time, Fleur already waiting in the back, perfectly coiffed and dressed to the nines. She smiles as Serena slides in beside her, lips painted a vivid pink.

“Do we need to stop at a pub on the way?”

Serena snorts a laugh. “What, you didn’t bring a flask?”

“Oh no, I did,” Fleur grins, patting her small clutch. “That’s for during the ceremony.”

“Ah, right.” Serena turns to look out the window, tries to focus on keeping her breathing regular, on not bursting into tears. “If I haven’t said it, thank you,” she says softly, not looking Fleur’s way. “For everything.”

“Making me go to a wedding where I can’t chat up any of the lovely and available female guests? You bloody well should thank me,” Fleur grouses, but there’s no bite to the words. She reaches over to give Serena’s had a reassuring squeeze, and blessedly leaves her to her thoughts.

The quaint manor house is already bustling when Serena arrives with Fleur, guests in their Sunday best chatting and enjoying a last bit of sunshine in the neatly manicured gardens before they head inside. She sees Fletch and Donna talking to Cam, and Ric inclines his head her way, but doesn't stop to talk; knows she can’t face any of them right now without her carefully applied mask cracking in two.

Things are quieter inside. One of the ushers points Serena to the room where Bernie is getting ready.

"Ready for this?" Fleur asks, and Serena nods, smiles wanly as Fleur squeezes her arm. "I'll be right outside with the others if you need me." She busses a quick kiss to Serena's cheek, and walks away.

Taking a deep breath, Serena taps lightly on the door. "Bernie? It's me."

She hears a soft 'come in’ and pushes open the door to find a small lounge, a sofa and table to one side, and a mirrored dressing table against the wall. Bernie steps in through another door, all ready dressed, and Serena's heart thuds in her ears.

She can tell Bernie is nervous, sees her fingers twitching in the way that says she dying for a fag. Still she gives Serena a smile, one of those soft, genuine ones that warms her from the inside out.

"I thought I'd see if you needed anything," Serena says, lingering near the door.

"Thanks," Bernie says. "It's good to see a friendly face."

"Nervous?"

Bernie barks a laugh. "Just a bit. It feels like I'm about to sit for my medical boards all over again. In fact," she moves to the dressing table, retrieving a delicate chain, holding it out in Serena's direction. "Would you mind? My hands are shaking too much to get the damn thing closed." 

"Of course." It’s surprising that Bernie, normally so steady under pressure, always confident and sure in surgery, would have trembling hands today.

The necklace is fine enough that there's no way to avoid fingertips touching as Serena takes it from Bernie's hands, even that brief contact raising a flush of goosebumps along her arms. They stand before the mirror, Serena at Bernie's back, and Bernie bends her knees a bit so Serena can lift her arms over her head.

Bernie's hair is swept up and piled in loose curls, sprinkled through with small jeweled pins that catch the light. Serena can't help but let her eyes trail the length of her neck, the curve of her spine left bare by the deep vee of lace, the scent of Bernie's perfume making her a little dizzy. Her hands tremble too, and it takes her a few tries to get the clasp, leaning in close enough that her breath stirs the wisps of hair at the nape of Bernie's neck. 

The necklace finally clicks into place, the small pendant settling in the notch of Bernie's throat.

"There," Serena says softly, but doesn't move away.

Instead, she rests her hands on Bernie's shoulders, gentle and light. Feels a tremor go through her. 

Their eyes meet in the mirror, both sets wide and dark, and Serena can't look away, paralyzed by Bernie's nearness, the warmth radiating from her.

Bernie's mouth opens as if to say something, and then her gaze flicks down slightly. The warmth in her eyes fades, her lips tensing into a thin line. Spine straightening, she takes a half step forward, leaving Serena's hands to hover awkwardly, midair.

"You might want to clean yourself up," Bernie says, busying herself with digging through a small box of jewelry.

"What?" Serena glances in the mirror, notices a smudge of Fleur's bright lipstick left near the corner of her mouth, quickly swipes it away with the pad of her thumb.

“I guess you and Fleur are still going strong after the way you two got on at the hen night?” 

“Got on?” Serena asks, frowning.

“Seems like you enjoyed yourself.” Bernie's tone is all wrong, tight and a little high, and she still won't look up, her posture painfully rigid. 

"I think everyone did," Serena says carefully, confused as to why they're even talking about this. "Had a bit too much to drink, if I'm honest, even by my standards."

She means it as a joke, a way to lighten the suddenly tense atmosphere. Instead Bernie's head jerks her way, her eyes opaque and hard. 

"I could tell by the way you two made fools of yourselves." 

The words sting, Serena's mouth dropping open in surprise. Bernie just stands there staring back, a look of sullen defiance on her face.

"Excuse me?"

Spots of color appear high on Bernie's cheeks, and she won't quite meet Serena's eyes. "I'm just saying, you practically had your hand up her dress in front of the entire hospital."

It hits Serena like a brick: Bernie is_ jealous_. Jealous of her and Fleur, of them together. Of _seeing _them together. 

Indignant anger floods through her, all the heartache and sorrow coalescing into a white hot spear of rage. 

“You’re jealous?” The words fly from her mouth, sharply studded syllables meant to wound. “You have everything in the world, and you’re jealous of me? Or are you jealous of _Fleur_?”

Bernie doesn’t say anything, just scuffs her foot, in it’s surprisingly dainty shoe, against the floor. Her face is set in that all too familiar bland expression, the one that says she’s choosing not to fight, that she’s holding all her emotion at bay. Somehow that makes things worse.

"Oh for god's sake, you can save your jealousy," Serena snaps, emotion making her voice sharp, spitting out the words without a thought behind them. "It wasn't even real."

She freezes, aware of what’s just happened. Part of her is glad to have the truth out, the rest wishes the earth would open up and swallow her whole.

Bernie's brow wrinkles in confusion.

"What do you mean? I saw you! And Cam said..."

"Your ever so observant son was mistaken." 

"Then why would you...but you told me..."

"I-, I don't know. You were so sure about it and said you were happy for me." Serena fumbles over her words, everything a jumble in her head. "And you're getting married, I thought...I thought it would be easier."

"Easier?" Bernie shakes her head incredulously. "I really thought that maybe we could be friends again, I wanted that so much. But you're still lying to me." The words hit Serena like a slap, and she can see sadness reflected in Bernie's eyes. "Why?”

It’s Serena’s turn to fall silent, too afraid of what she might say, too afraid of hurtful words that might come out too easily. She tries to come up with an excuse, with another lie, her brain scattered, unsure, empty.

Bernie stares at her, takes a step forward, won’t stop pushing. “After everything we've been through, why can't you just be honest with me?"

"Because I still love you!" Serena says on a breath, but the words falling between them like a boulder, a metaphorical elephant in the room, as if she shouted them. Saying it out loud breaks something free in her, everything pouring out like leeching infection from a wound.

"Because I never stopped loving you, not for a single moment. God, I regret _everything_. Everything I did, everything I said." Tears fill her eyes, splinter the light into a shimmering halo around Bernie. "Most of all, I regret ever letting you go."

"Serena..." Bernie says softly, reaching forward, but Serena is too far gone to stop now.

"And then you come back and say you're getting married. Married! Not seven months after you walked out of Albie's. What was I supposed to do? Beg you not to? Tell you to walk away from Alex and come back to me? I wanted to. But you deserve to be happy, Bernie, and I-, I won't stand in the way of that."

The adrenaline of the moment passes and Serena slumps a bit, suddenly exhausted. Bernie looks shell-shocked, and it takes Serena a beat to realize she's not actually looking at her, but past her shoulder. 

Serena turns her head, enough to see Fleur standing in the open doorway, a stricken Alex only a few steps behind her.

"It seems the soundproofing in these old buildings is a bit rubbish," Fleur says lightly, looking back and forth between them. Over her shoulder, Serena sees Alex turn and rush down the hallway, out of sight. "I suggest you two figure this out." Fleur backs away, closing the door firmly behind her.

Alone with Bernie again, the enormity of what she's done washes over Serena, a sickening tide of humiliation and hurt. Hot tears spill down her cheeks unbidden, and she turns away, biting her lip to hold back her sobs. Having the truth out there is bad enough, she doesn't want Bernie to see her cry.

“Serena.” A hand comes to rest on her arm, gentle and _oh_ so familiar. 

It’s too much.

“Don’t!” Serena jerks her arm away, a ragged sob breaking free from her chest. “Just go. Go after Alex.”

Bernie grips her arm more firmly this time, and Serena finds herself spun around, Bernie’s other hand coming up to hold her in place. Crying openly now, she closes her eyes. Bernie’s pity is the last thing she wants to see.

“Serena.” Bernie’s voice is soft, cautious. “Please look at me.”

“Please just go,” she whispers, willing Bernie to leave her alone with her broken heart, unwilling to share. “You can explain everything to Alex. Tell her-, tell her that it was all me, you didn’t ask for any of this. She won’t be mad if you explain.”

Bernie releases her arms and Serena almost collapses in relief. She hasn’t ruined anything, Bernie will still be fine. Bernie will be wonderful.

The moment is short-lived, Bernie’s hands moving to cup her face, surprising her, and she opens her eyes to see Bernie’s soft gaze. There’s a split second where she sees the determination harden in Bernie’s eyes, a counterpoint to her sorrow.

And then Bernie’s lips are are covering hers, soft and warm and utterly perfect.

It’s like going back in time, to that first moment on the theater floor, their kiss tasting of adrenaline and the salt of tears, desperation leaving them clinging to each other. It’s everything she’s missed, everything she’s been dreaming of for so long, and Serena’s too weak to resist.

Her hand comes up to curl around the back of Bernie’s neck, fingers finally sinking into her hair and pulling her closer. Serena kisses with all of the love and longing and loneliness that she’s been harboring, fierce and raw.

Somehow she pulls herself away, coming back to reality, but Bernie doesn’t let her move too far, hands still touching her cheeks, thumbs moving softly. All Serena can see are those dark, fathomless eyes.

“I love you,” Bernie whispers harshly, her breath ghosting over Serena’s lips. “Serena, I love you, too. I always have.”

Serena’s stomach swoops with a wild, giddy joy, her heart racing. It’s all she can do to stop herself from pulling Bernie back in, kissing her again and again, from sliding her hands beneath the soft white lace and...

Logic takes over. Common sense is what makes her step back a bit, put some space between them. Bernie hands fall away; her face falls too.

“But you’re getting married.”

Bernie winces, her shoulders hunching in an aborted shrug. Her hands flutter a bit against her trousers, and Serena knows that if she were in jeans they’d be shoved into her pockets by now.

“I know. I-“ She paces across the room, sinks to the couch and cradles her head in her hands. “I’ve made such a bloody mess of everything.”

Serena sits beside her, careful to keep space between them even as her hands itch to touch Bernie again. Part of her wants to demand answers to the myriad questions swirling in her brain, but she knows Bernie well enough to realize what she needs is space and time to order her thoughts.

“I didn’t go looking for this to happen,” Bernie says, eyes trained on her clenched hands between her knees. “I didn’t even know Alex was back in the RAMC until I got to Mogadishu. After everything that happened with _us._” She glances Serena’s way for just a moment. “It was nice to have someone to talk to. A friend.”

Serena nods even as her stomach twists. She’d been so convinced that she was doing the right thing for Bernie that she never really stopped to imagine that Bernie was hurting the same way, that she missed their friendship just as much. That they lost more than romance when Bernie left.

“We weren’t actually together that long before Alex proposed.” Finally she turns to face Serena, eyes wary. “I should’ve said no. But it, it felt good to be wanted like that. To have someone who wanted me.”

“I always wanted you,” Serena says. It’s the truth. No matter the other complications, wanting Bernie has always been as natural as breathing.

“Then why did you send me away?” The hurt in Bernie’s voice echoes through Serena, and she wishes vehemently to undo everything that happened to make Bernie feel this way.

“I wanted you to be happy,” Serena says. “And I didn’t think that staying with me would let you be that.”

“You should’ve let me decide that,” Bernie says, an edge of bewildered anger to the words. “You should’ve trusted that I knew what I wanted.”

Serena closes her eyes, can’t bear to see the patchwork of pain on Bernie’s face. She wishes she could argue the point, but Bernie is right - she loves Bernie desperately, but a piece of her never believed that she could be enough for her.

“Things with Alex were…easy, I suppose. We have a lot in common, we get on well. I think that I convinced myself that I was happy. That it was enough.” She chuckles, a hard, harsh sound. “Lord knows I’ve spent enough of my life doing just that, I’m an expert by now.”

Bernie pauses, watching her, and Serena starts as Bernie’s fingers slide against her own. She looks up, and for the first time sees a glimmer in Bernie’s gaze. Something that looks terrifyingly like hope.

“But even then, I never stopped thinking of you. It wasn’t fair to Alex, but a part of me always hoped we’d find find each other again someday.”

“Why?” The word bursts free from Serena, almost against her own volition, the one question she could never answer, the one that lives in the darkest part of her self-doubt. “After everything I’ve done, the way I’ve treated you, why would you ever want to come back?”

“Because I love you.” Bernie says the words so easily, like nothing has ever been truer, like it’s just an immutable fact of the universe. 

Like it’s all that matters.

“Even when I’m stubborn, and reckless, and I try to decide what’s best for you?” 

Bernie tugs at Serena’s hand, settling it more firmly in her own, thumb rubbing softly against her knuckles. 

“Even then, Serena. You’re a part of me. A part I didn’t even know I was missing until I met you.”

Fresh tears roll down Serena’s cheeks, catch in the lines beside her mouth. “You deserve so much better,” she whispers, voice breaking. 

She closes her eyes as Bernie cups her cheek, brushes away the moisture from her skin.

“I think, maybe, I deserve _you_.”

For the first time, Serena hears the truth in the words. There’s no artifice in Bernie, no judgements. Just acceptance.

It’s humbling, a forgiveness Serena doesn’t think she’s earned. But maybe, just maybe, she can be worthy of it.

Slowly she closes the last inches between them, captures Bernie’s mouth, their hands still tangled together in her lap. Tries to pour all of her love and hope into the connection, to start the long road of healing the rift between them.

Resting their foreheads together, they sit in silence for a moment, breathing the same air.

“What are you going to do now?” Serena asks, loathe to break this moment of peace but knowing it’s necessary.

Bernie leans back with a sigh. “I have to go talk to Alex. And then tell all of the guests, I suppose. Tell them to take advantage of the food, it’s already paid for.” The attempt at a joke falls flat, though Serena gives her a half-hearted smile all the same, the enormity of the situation resting between her shoulder blades. Bernie stands, fingers still gripping Serena’s, a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. “You’ll still be here? When I come back?”

What feels like the first genuine smile in months rises up in Serena, beams out from her, and she presses her lips to Bernie’s knuckles.

“I’ll be here,” she promises. “Always.”

…

_One year later…_

A warm breeze flows through the house, tugging a bit at Serena’s blouse as she stands in the kitchen, placing the last of the dishes from dinner into the drying rack. The late summer sun fills the room with golden light, makes the day feel unending.

A high, happy giggle breaks the peaceful atmosphere, followed by a loud, braying honk and another fit of giggles. Serena looks out from the kitchen window, past the neatly tended garden beds, the birdfeeder in the center of the lawn.

Guinevere shrieks in delight as Bernie pushes her on her new swing set, chubby arms waving in the air.

They spent every night this week in the garden, Serena enjoying a glass of wine, supervising while Bernie built the wooden structure. It likely would have been done faster if Serena hadn’t kept pulling Bernie away, leading her upstairs to their bedroom, but when faced with the sight of Bernie swinging a hammer in loose joggers and a vest, who could blame her?

It makes her heart full to the brim, seeing Bernie play with Guinevere, putting her stamp on what was once Serena’s home, what is now _their_ home. Jason and Greta’s flat hardly has the space, and they babysit often enough that it made sense to have it here. She knows the swingset will find other uses too, when the nights are cool, Bernie’s warm hands pushing at her back as she swings forward, wine on her lips, happiness in her heart. 

There are moments, still, when she thinks of how differently it all could have gone, the specter of loneliness lurking at the edges of her regained happiness. Times when sadness tinges everything around her. Somehow, Bernie always knows when it happens, holds Serena just a little bit closer, says ‘I love you’ more often. Her quiet, steadfast support means more to Serena than any grand gesture.

On days like today, when Serena thinks of her imperfect little family, she can only be grateful. Jason and Greta are healthy and happy. Guinevere is a delight. And, on the other side of long, painful conversations, hours of therapy, and the slow rebuilding of trust, she finally feels deserving of the life she and Bernie have made, of the love that she’s been so incredibly lucky to find with her best friend.

As she watches Bernie and Guinevere, her mind wanders to the small velvet box, tucked in the back of her bedside drawer. She’d been unsure when she bought it; things were still delicate between them and the last thing she wanted was to ruin it all by rushing. 

But now thoughts of the box, the plain, elegant ring inside, only feel right. 

Maybe the time has come to step back into a church, or a clerk's office. Whatever it is Bernie wants, really. Serena isn't chuffed. Just as long as they're both wearing rings at the end of it, committed to this being forever.

“Bunny, up!” Guinevere’s nickname for Bernie makes Serena’s lips tip up in a smile, another mark of her permanence in their lives.

“Alright, little miss.” Bernie plucks Guinevere from the swing, tossing her a few inches into the air to the toddler’s delight, before settling her on her hip. Serena sees her wince a bit as tiny hands inevitably tangle in her hair. “Shall we go see what Auntie Serena is up to?”

Bernie looks toward the house, and their eyes meet, a smile lighting up her face that makes Serena’s stomach flip. She smiles in return, watches them from the window as she sips from her wine glass. Or maybe it’s Bernie’s glass, she’s not sure.

The wine tastes just as sweet.


End file.
